Pure Providence, page 2
part #10 of Pure/ Dark Ones Series
Not the way I used to when I was still myself.
As if I am under the effects of local anesthesia, according to the way, Rain, the Pure Ones’ healer, describes it. My consciousness knows when I am injured, when someone touches me, when they break my skin with their fangs and drink my blood.
But it is only a phantom of the real feeling. As if I were witnessing these things happen to someone else.
The truth is, I feel nothing.
Physical reactions are muted until even the deepest cuts become mere needle pricks in my consciousness. My reprogrammed mind routes and diffuses the pain so that my body is capable of higher endurance, pushing beyond limits to extend its strength and magnify its senses.
I am a machine. Tireless. Emotionless.
Soul-less.
At least 99.9% of the time this is the case.
If only it were always true.
But my soul is not completely dead. If it were, my body would unravel and I would return to stardust.
I am still here. A faint flicker of suppressed subconscious that reminds me of the hell I’m in.
It is not the physical pain that bothers me. I am used to pain.
It is the purpose behind what is done to me that tears my psyche apart.
I was the Pure Ones’ Paladin. The Pure Queen’s personal guard. But now, against my will, I am the General that leads our enemies’ armies.
There is nothing I can do to stop it. Like a disembodied ghost, I can only observe the massacres as if viewing events from the bottom of a deep, dark well.
Are those my hands that wield the crescent blades, slashing through noble animal spirits while they rested defenseless in their enclave?
Are those my fingers that pull the trigger of the long-range rifle, taking down the Tiger King as he dove into the Bay?
It is infinitely worse to comprehend what is happening but be utterly powerless in the process.
There is no choice. There is no control.
Resistance is futile.
But I keep fighting.
Why do I keep fighting for my soul?
6th Century B.C., Persepolis, Capital City of the Persian Empire.
“How do you know if you prefer males or females?”
Cambyses and I were lying side by side on top the northern hill that overlooked the metropolis. This was our spot to get away from the palace and its endless intrigues.
Cambyses would tutor me on math, literature and philosophy, and I would show him some tricks to get through our combat training so the other princes didn’t beat him black and blue at every session.
An intellectual, I was definitely not, but I memorized enough to get by. A fighter, Cambyses might never be, but he learned enough to hold his own.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Cambyses often asked questions and said things that were too profound for me to comprehend at first pass.
I’m simple. Instinctual. I try not to think too much.
I feel.
Unfortunately, I sometimes feel too much.
He slid me a pointed look which I had no hope of deciphering.
“You know…”
He left the remainder of the sentence dangling, hoping I’d fill in the blanks.
As usual, I disappointed him in this regard.
“I don’t know.”
He propped up on an elbow, lying on his side looking down at me, while I stacked my hands beneath my head and gazed up at the cloudless sky, gnawing on a piece of straw in the corner of my mouth.
“Haven’t you been overcome with the urge to pinch a pair of titties yet? Or gotten hard at the sight of a fine set of masculine buttocks?”
I was fifteen, Cambyses was fourteen. Of course I knew what my cock was for when it stood upright.
“Yeah,” I grunted.
Cambyses rolled his eyes.
“‘Yeah’ what?” he mimicked my informal tone.
I was the only one who ever spoke to him like an equal, my speech bordering on disrespectful.
“Which is it? Females or males that get you up?”
I shrugged. I had more control of myself than to punch an erection through my trousers at the sight of a pretty girl. And I definitely didn’t appreciate the sight of bony little boys and hairy old men.
“Females, I guess,” I answered grudgingly.
He settled back to lie beside me again, folding his hands over his stomach.
“I don’t know which one of them I prefer,” he murmured. “They’re both beautiful. Men and women. And also ugly. But I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to marry and reproduce soon enough. Father has already negotiated for my bride. The alliance will strengthen the empire significantly.”
I didn’t look over at him like I wanted to.
When he said things that mattered, he didn’t like being looked at. He didn’t like the scrutiny. So I pretended we were chatting about the weather, injecting carelessness into my voice.
“Will it be a chore for you?” I asked.
I felt him sigh beside me.
“It’s my duty as the Crown Prince. It is an honor, I suppose, for the princess I’m to marry is reputed to be a beautiful girl, much beloved by her own kingdom.”
“You can always have your harem,” I reminded him, even though we both knew how I felt about the subject.
“I won’t,” he vowed. “When I marry, I will be faithful and respectful to my wife. I will not hurt…others…the way father does.”
I knew he meant my mother.
Perhaps he meant me as well.
“He doesn’t beat them,” I said in the king’s defense.
Cyrus was a good king, even if he was no father to me and no helpmate to my mother.
Cambyses huffed on an abbreviated laugh.
“Can you imagine me beating anyone? That should be the least of your worries. One of the reasons I must never have a harem is that those banshees will most certainly beat me! Women are such manipulative, jealous creatures. Much more dangerous than men.”
I wondered where he got such notions. The only woman I had regular contact with was my mother, and she was an angel. Queen Cassandane seemed perfectly placid, if not very motherly. Princess Atossa was a bit of a mystery. Our paths seldom cross. And the youngest princess, Roxana, was still a babe.
“You can have men in your harems too,” I pointed out.
It was commonly done. Even the ladies of the royal harem had harems of their own, but only female slaves and eunuchs were permitted.
He shook his head.
“I won’t,” he repeated.
“What if you find out that you like males?”
He shrugged, and I sensed him starting to close down on the subject.
“I won’t betray my wife. I will still love her as best I can, and hope that she loves me back. Love is more than just sexual congress, after all. We can have a deep, platonic love if it comes to that.”
I wasn’t so sure.
Wasn’t it best to have both spiritual and physical love? It seemed odd to keep them separate. I didn’t even know if that was possible.
He tilted his head at me while I kept my eyes on the sky above.
“What about you, Dalair? What are your thoughts about marriage?”
“None whatsoever,” I replied readily.
I never thought about marriage. I was only fifteen, for gods’ sake.
Yes, many young men my age were already married. Some were even fathers. But they were farmers and intellectuals.
I was a soldier. Soldiers died in wars long before they settled down with wives and spawned offspring. I saw no need to veer off that well-trodden path.
He nudged me with his shoulder, disbelief practically radiating from him in waves.
“Come on. You’re a year older than me! Lots of the other princes have been rid of their virginity by throngs of fragrant, curvaceous females. Father and mother are arranging their marriages too. Surely there’s been a girl who caught your eye? And knowing you, you wouldn’t have her unless it’s within marriage vows, so you must have thought about marriage!”
“Nope,” I said quite decidedly. “When it happens it happens. I haven’t met a girl yet who makes me think about the future beyond what’s for luncheon and supper.”
Cambyses huffed in exaggerated disgust this time.
“You’re such a simple brute.”
“Yep,” I readily concurred.
We were silent for a long while after that, content in the shared peace and quiet.
A light breeze blew across our sun-bronzed skin and tunics. Leaves rustled on nearby cypress trees. The sun’s warm rays made me close my eyes for a brief doze. I was content to lie beside my brother and friend. It was a simple happiness I never took for granted.
After a time he said, “The Egyptian king wants me to travel there to personally escort my princess bride back to Persepolis. As a sign of respect and esteem between our two kingdoms.”
“I’ll go,” I immediately volunteered.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. “Father doesn’t believe King Apries is using this betrothal as a front for something sinister, but one never knows. Father hasn’t come this far without taking all necessary precautions.”
He looked over at me.
“But in case there’s any cloak and dagger, you know I’m useless in those situations. I’d scream like a girl at the sight of a blade and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction.”
He paused, then added, “Likely in the wrong direction too.”
A corner of my mouth quirked.
“You’re not so bad,” I said loyally.
“I’m worse,” he returned.
“Maybe,” I teased. “Girls scream more manly-like than you. You sound like a gutted pig.”
“Pigs can be quite adorable,” he pointed out irrelevantly.
“You snort like one too.”
“This is true. But pigs are extremely intelligent. Bet I can teach piglets math faster than I can teach you.”
I shrugged.
Who needed math?
One day, when I was leading the king’s armies and facing enemy soldiers, it wouldn’t matter whether the odds were ten against one or a hundred against one, I always fought to win.
“You’ll have to learn some niceties though,” he said more seriously.
I could feel him giving me a dubious look.
I wasn’t known for niceties.
I didn’t speak unless I absolutely had to. I exhibited the most minimal of social graces. I was only this loquacious with Cambyses and my mother.
“You mean spout flowery phrases about a girl’s eyes and bosom?”
That got Cambyses up on his elbow again, glaring down at me, wide-eyed and aghast.
“Never, never, mention a female’s bosom! Certainly not to her face or even within her hearing! Or within any of her relatives’ hearing for that matter… come to think of it, don’t mention it out loud to anyone ever!”
I bit the inside of my cheek on a smile.
Cambyses was so gullible sometimes.
Of course I knew better than to refer to any part of a female’s body, even the features of her face, in public.
Maybe in private, one day, if I ever acquired a wife. Though I had a hard time imagining any such flowery nonsense emerging from my mouth.
He seemed to have caught on that I was merely bamming him and settled back down.
“Just do that thing you always do,” he said after considering me a few minutes in silence.
“What thing?”
“That thing,” he reiterated unhelpfully. “What you’re doing now. All stoic and silent. Man of few words and all that. With your battle prowess, my looks, and your silence,” he stressed the last bit, “King Apries should accept you just fine, and the princess should fall madly in love with you.”
“You mean, fall madly in love with you,” I corrected with a grimace. I didn’t want any girl stupidly falling at my feet.
“Well, yes,” Cambyses acknowledged impatiently. “That’s why I said my looks. You’re just representing me in this journey to bring the princess to our homeland. You’re the stand-in. I’m the real deal.”
“Thank the gods for that,” I muttered.
More loudly I asked, “Do you at least know the princess’s name?”
“Kira,” he answered.
“Her name is Kira.”
Mistress of Light.
Chapter Three: An Inauspicious Beginning
Sometimes, I think I hear things.
I don’t know if they are truly words that are spoken or if I have imagined them in my fractured subconscious.
Someone who looked like Sophia asked me what I wanted to do to her.
I said something in reply…
What did I say?
I would fuck you. I wouldn’t stop until I’ve marked every inch of you for my own.
Goddess above! Had I said that?
If I’d been in control of myself I would never have even thought that.
No fucking tonight, I’m afraid, the creature who was not Sophia responded. But I am growing a bit peckish. Given that you’re still Pure, for all intents and purposes, I suppose you’ll meet my needs well enough…
The thing who is neither female nor male keeps my body in a windowless chamber almost always submerged in darkness.
It is like a tomb.
Fitting, I suppose, since I am mostly dead.
The creature talks to me once in a while as if we’re in the middle of an ongoing conversation. The way it speaks reminds me of someone else I used to know.
Who was it?
I can’t remember.
I don’t want to remember.
Do you admire your queen too? Little Sophia who’s got all her memories back? She’s changed from what you knew of her, it said in that taunting, haunting voice.
She’s not entirely like the one you knew before either. She’s a blend of everything she was and is, all the lives she’s lived. Quite fascinating, actually, to watch her. She’s become…a lot more interesting. Unpredictable.
Sophia…
How would you feel if I told you that I’ll be the one beside her in the days and nights to come while you lie here like an empty, useless husk? I’ll be by her side like I used to be way back when.
When?
When were you by her side?
You don’t remember me, do you? I was in a different form, then. She loved me, you know. And she’ll learn to love me again while you’re asleep.
No!
Poor you. Torn between life and death. If you live, you’ll continue to be a mindless, soul-less pawn used by me and our Mistress. If you die, who will protect your dearest Sophia?
No! I won’t die.
I will fight to the end!
But this is your fate, Dalair Al Amirah. You might as well accept it. You are doomed to be her downfall no matter the time or place. No matter how you try, you will never be able to save her…
6th Century B.C., Zau, Capital of Egypt.
Zau was the seat of the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty of Egyptian pharaohs, situated in the Western Nile Delta on the Canopic branch near the Mediterranean coast.
It was a magnificent sight to behold.
Egypt was a far older civilization than ours, and it showed. From the glistening, forty-foot limestone walls that enclosed the city to the well-paved roads that connected surrounding villages, and the massive fleet of ships that guarded the serene sea coast, Zau made even a Persian prince feel like a pauper begging before its towering gates.
Good thing I wasn’t really a prince.
I brought only three trusted retainers on the journey, the fiercest fighters I’d trained and fought with. I might have been fifteen that summer, but I’d survived more than a few battles already.
I killed my first foe at age twelve. I marched in my first campaign that same year. I knew who I could trust at my back. Besides my mother and Cambyses, my men were my bond. I’d gladly die for any one of them.
And they, for me.
I’d given them the general gist of our mission, its very real dangers, and to a man, they didn’t hesitate to pledge their life with mine.
If this betrothal was a trap, a smaller group on the fastest steeds had a higher chance of escape. If we went down, at least King Cyrus would only lose four soldiers. A mere drop in his military bucket.
Besides, if we arrived in Zau with a small army at our back, I doubt King Apries would have opened wide his city gates and received us with favor.
Moreover, when we traveled the five-day journey back to Persepolis (perhaps a day or two longer depending on how well the Princess’s caravan could keep up), a smaller group would draw fewer eyes.
“That’s the tallest fucking gate I’ve ever seen,” Parviz muttered beside me, coughed up a dust ball and spat it in a thick wad on the recently swept grounds.
Parviz wasn’t known for niceties either. But he was handy with an axe, having practiced his swinging arm from the cradle, given that his Da was the village butcher.
Tsk, tsk, Farzin clucked on my other side, eyeing the disrespectful expulsion of phlegm with mild annoyance mixed with exasperation.
Farzin was the learned one. A scholarly warrior, according to his own description. Even his white gelding side-stepped the scene of the crime with a haughty snort.
“What if the princess falls madly in love with me first?” Darien asked with a quirk of his mouth, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He was the eldest amongst the four of us at twenty years old. He was already a man, with the height and shoulder width to match. And to hear him boast about it, his reputation as a lady’s man preceded him. They even called him “Darien the Great.”
I suppose Darien cut a dashing figure and stood out with his golden hair, his mother a renowned beauty from Shiraz.
But I was more deadly with a sword.
Two swords, actually, as I taught myself to be ambidextrous. A rare advantage in combat.
“Just remember,” Farzin said, “You take her virginity, the king takes your head.”
“But not before he cuts off your balls and maybe your pecker too,” Parviz added. “Likely with a blunt, rusted spoon.”
Darien narrowed his eyes and cursed the others beneath his breath, while Parviz guffawed like a wild hog and Farzin chuckled with more control.
